A/N: This was written for the R/HR smutfest, on Tumblr and LJ. My thanks to E for the beta work along with a terrific prompt to work with. Also, for those in Islington, this story is set a week before my other fic, The Prodigal Son Returns. *grin*

A/N2: Per the owl reminder from my Solicitor, I don't own HP or Ron and Hermione or anything Harry Potter related. The only thing I own is a breadbox, courtesy of my mum, so I can put home baked loves in. - DG

Harsh winds whipped across the walkway. Sodium lights overhead illuminated the tall young man walking briskly on the pavement, his features tucked into the cloak he had pulled tight around his lanky frame. The hand knitted scarf was tucked into the top of his coat under his cloak, barely keeping the cold off of his neck.

"Merlin, that was one fuckin' long day." Ron continued to grump on his walk to the flat after working 16 hours. "Bloody sods! Who the hell does potion experiments with kids at home! Shite! And who the hell said that putting nightshade in a sleeping draught was a bright idea? Too bad the arse won't have to deal with those consequences. Ruddy tosspot. What wanker puts their kids through that trauma? Stupid fuckwad!"

Ron saw the toes of his boots covered in muck. He might have to pitch them into the incinerator if Hermione or Mum couldn't get the gunk off of them. The stench of dragon dung was too much. He might be a grown man, but he knew that he was pants when it came to stringent cleaning charms. Between the boots and the ends of his robe covered in Flobberworm paste, he needed a complete disinfecting – at least his clothes did.

He reached up, checking his hair and found something in it. "Oh fuck! What the hell is this?" He pulled the muck out and couldn't discern what the mess was. "Shite! I need a scrubbing too."

Ron saw the blinking clock in front of the Muggle bank on his walk home. "5:45", he read in consideration. Maybe Hermione can scrub my back along with a leg over before she has to leave. It's been a week since we've shagged – and that was a quickie in the shower before she went into work.

Ron thought back to that Monday morning. He'd been at the offices all night – working the night shift because he and Harry were the lowest on the seniority pole – and Hermione didn't have to be into work until 9am. He'd gotten home at almost 6 am to find her disrobing for a shower.

Ron stepped into their bedroom and saw his wife's shapely arse, bent over the tub. He reacted immediately, watching her bum while she moved over the tub. "Don't mind me, please continue."

Hermione turned her head at her rather tardy husband and gave him an award winning smile. "Want to join me for a shower? I know you could use one after working all night."

"Don't mind if I do," Ron said as he stripped out of his Auror robes and uniform. He watched her strip out of her vest and knickers with a slight blush on her cheeks.

"You look fuckin' amazing."

She turned and stepped into their loo, and he happily followed her.

"Merlin, it's been too long since we've done this."

She turned back to him after starting the shower. "Well, you're busy working nights, helping George in the afternoon and on Saturday – and then lunch on Sunday with the family. It's not like we have too much time together of our own, right?

Ron stepped right up to his newlywed wife and watched her cheeks flush from their proximity. "And let's not talk about you working full time and studying to be a solicitor, too." Ron laid a searing kiss upon his wife's waiting lips. "I thought once we finished we'd have more time for us."

Hermione returned the favor by gripping him and working her small hands around his growing ardour. "We have responsibilities, dear. It's not like we can sit at home pulling the strings of the world with ill-earned galleons or inherited money."

Ron threw his head back in growing lust for the talent of his wife's hands. He growled, the shower drowning out most of the noise he was making. "You keep that up and you won't get to play with Him how you like."

Hermione gave Ron a salacious wink before stepping into the shower stall. "Are you coming or not?" She offered.

"Cheeky wench," he growled before joining her.

Ron stopped to adjust his trousers under his cloak and robes. That morning was brilliant – and the last time they had time for one another in over the last week.

He made it to the stairs of their building, a three story walk-up in Muggle London. It was close enough to Harry for visiting, but just far enough away to have their space. They didn't mind it since they could close the Floo to visitors most of the time. Only Mum would try to interrupt, yelling through the fireplace when they wouldn't answer her call immediately – then apologize profusely when one of them would come out of their bedroom, obviously disheveled and rather irritated.

They needed those times, just the two of them, when they could take the time to reconnect and fall back in love with each other.

"Blimey, George and Charlie'd call me a twat for needing her." Cor, neither one of them are married. So who's the twat now?

Ron took the stairs two at a time with the hope of seeing Hermione. Breakfast might be nice, too – fried eggs, beans and toast, and a platter of bacon - but a leg over would make the morning just right.

He came to their door and put his hand on the handle. The protective magic around their residence was as tight, if not tighter, than the security at Gringotts. Hermione and Bill saw to the wards themselves before they moved in. Ron even took the extra precaution of having Aurors do a security breach on it – and they failed, too.

Ron tapped his wand on the handle, and it opened with a click. "Hermione, I'm home."

His voice replied back.

"Hermione, I'm home!"

Ron closed the door behind him and heard nothing in the flat. Bacon wasn't cooking in the kitchen, and the shower wasn't running. He looked around and didn't see her briefcase or her cloak. "Where the hell is my wife?"

Ron walked into their galley kitchen and saw the note on the counter.

Ron:

I had a meeting at the office this morning. I left early so I could finish preparing for it. There's breakfast in the oven for you. Sorry you had a long night.

I'll see you this evening.

-Hermione

Ron stared at the note in growing frustration. "One bloody morning, that all I ask. Why the fuck? One bleeding morning with my wife –"

Director Robard's Rottweiler Patronus popped into the kitchen. "Weasley! Get your arse back in the office. I still need two reports from you as well as the debriefing at 7am before you're off the clock."

Ron sighed and pulled his wand from the holster on his leg. He thought of the last time he had time to properly make love to his wife before sending his Jack Russell terrier off to the Auror offices. I can at least change my robes before going back in.

He trudged to their bedroom to change his attire before returning to work for another few hours of paperwork and arrest debriefings.

Hermione stepped into the flat to darkness. That wasn't surprising nowadays, since Ron was working afternoons with George and the night shift at the Ministry. Their current schedule wasn't helping their marriage in the least. Her classes to become a licensed Solicitor took what little time she had left after her full time work in Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures.

She realized months into her job that the only way that she could make the progressive and wildly radical changes in the Magical world was to be in a position of authority – and the only way she could do that before she was bent over by old age was by having even more credentials.

The fools in the directorship didn't care about competency – just certifications and heritage. Heritage she couldn't do much about; certifications, however, were within her control. Ministry directors didn't care if you were completely ineffective. Their concern was keeping the status quo through class status and procuring donations from the Wizarding Landed gentry. Invites to the various parties helped ease those who were incompetent.

Some days, it didn't seem like the effort was worth it. The separations and stress on their marriage were taking a toll. At least she hoped this stress would only be temporary. They had another year to go before she would graduate from Oxford after reading Law – and by then, Ron would be finished with his apprenticeship and earning his junior class Auror status.

It still wouldn't give them more time together. Ron loved helping out George in the shop, and the galleons he made from the part time work with his brother – along with the occasional idea he had for the shop – paid as well, if not more, than his primary employment.

Hermione would never ask Ron to choose between his brother, his ambitions, and her. Sure, they were both spread thin, but they both loved what they were doing – or were planning on doing. Ron was exhausted every day, but he thrived while chasing his goals. He was happiest doing what he loved.

That was what she told herself every day she came home to a dark flat and no husband.

She laid down her briefcase and her beaded bag on the chair in their kitchen and sighed. Dishes were stacked in the sink – clean, but not put away – and if she had to guess, the leftover takeaway from last night would be gone.

"Ron, can you not put dishes away once they were clean? How bloody hard is it to put them four feet higher in the cabinet?" Hermione looked in the cooling cabinet and didn't see the package with the roasted chicken and parsnips. "Terrific, another night of eating Weetabix for dinner. Can you not leave me something to eat?"

Hermione saw the time on the oven and cringed. "No wonder why Ron isn't home. It's half ten. He goes on shift at 9pm. I bet he's mad as fire that I wasn't home before he left for work."

Hermione moved to the cooling cabinet to get the milk out but there was none left. Ron! Did you leave me anything to eat tonight? I bought groceries three days ago!

She reached into the other cabinet and found the bread along with the hazelnut spread she knew he wouldn't eat. At least I'll have something to eat tonight.

Tap, tap, tap.

Hermione turned and saw an owl at their window. She laid down the bread slice and the knife for the spread before walking over to the window and the cold owl. She didn't immediately recognize, it but Ministry correspondence rarely used the same owl for intra-city deliveries. She approached it and looked out the condensation covered window for any intruders that could possibly breach the wards. Feeling secure, she let the tawny owl into their flat. There was a scrap of parchment attached to his leg.

"Do you need to stay and warm up or do you want to get back to your roost?"

The owl shivered on the perch he took in their living room and tucked his beak under a wing.

"You stay and rest then. I'll answer this parchment from my husband later tonight."

She unrolled it and saw his less than tidy script on the parchment in her hands.

Hermione:

Where the bloody hell were you tonight? You said you'd be home before I left for work. I waited until the last second and you never called, never sent an owl, and certainly didn't leave me any word what's going on.

Please send the department owl back as soon as you get this. I'm going to be beside myself worrying until you do.

Ron

Hermione read the note once again to make sure she didn't misunderstand him. Off she went to her study to get a quill, ink, and fresh parchment for the owl to make a short return trip to the Ministry tonight.

Ron:

I was late getting out of class along with the study group. I didn't even realize what time it was until I walked into the flat. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you off this evening.

The meeting went well today, so I will go in at my regular time in the morning. I look forward to seeing you. Maybe we could have a repeat of last Monday?

Hermione

She walked back to the owl perched on the edge of the bookcase. Hermione ran a finger gently down the owl's head to get his attention.

"Sorry to wake you, but my husband wants this back tonight. I know it's cold, and I'm sorry to send you back out in this weather." The owl looked up from the spot under her wing and hooted softly. "If you want, once you deliver the letter, you can peck his hand for making you work so hard tonight."

The owl hooted louder before hopping to the window.

Hermione watched the owl depart into the night – and sighed in realization that tonight was going to be another cold night in their empty bed. Chocolate nut spread on bread suddenly didn't sound appealing.

She turned towards the bedroom and felt Crookshanks weaving between her legs. "Yes, you get the pillow tonight. At least you'll be content and comfortable."

She opened the door and watched Crookshanks settle into Ron's pillow on the other side of the bed. While he settled into his sleep, she disrobed out of her long-worn attire and pulled on flannel sleep trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and one of his old jumpers from his Mum. After a quick trip to the loo for brushing her teeth and her hair, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

There were too many lonely nights in her bed for the tears to stay inside. Another tear leaked out after she looked at the pictures that adorned her bedside table. There was one from their second year, taken by Colin Creevey, and another by Molly the week of Bill and Fleur's wedding, a third from when they returned home, battle worn and slowly recovering, and the last, from their wedding day, looking immaculate in their finery.

Each one reminded her of what she was missing tonight.

Another tear fell. Hermione didn't bother to wipe it from her face.

Merow?

She turned back to the bed and lifted the bedclothes before snuggling under the covers. Once her head hit the pillow, the tears fell harder than before. Nothing could staunch the flow for the evening.

Hermione Granger-Weasley cried herself to sleep. Years later and she was still crying over Ron Weasley.

Hermione woke up panting and sweating. One particular face sneered at her from under her husband's naked body. Black hair with hazel eyes taunted her, nasty words spoken while Hermione stood impotent, watching, until she was yanked from the nightmare. She was thankful that a noise or something else pulled her from that particular dream. It was just a garden variety nightmare. Ron can't stand Pansy Parkinson to save her life. He'd never do that.

She strained her eyes to see that Crookshanks wasn't on the other pillow. Maybe he's making a mess in the kitchen.

Hermione rolled out of the cold bed and threw on her flannel housecoat to investigate. With her wand in her hand, she padded out of the bedroom to the kitchen. Crookshanks ran full tilt, running into the cabinets and legs of the furniture in their flat. He was chasing a mouse, trying to catch it in the den.

Hermione checked the clock on the oven. 5:30.

Terrific. Maybe Ron'll get home before I have to leave for work.

Hermione set the tea kettle on the oven along with a pot for her bowl of porridge. Shortly thereafter, the kettle was whistling, the porridge was the right consistency, and the bowl of fruit and crème was ready for her. A quick stir and she was ready to eat.

Crookshanks jumped up into Ron's chair and looked at the dishes on the table. "Catch the mouse, did you?"

Crookshanks gave what could be approximated as a cat shrugging his shoulders before turning his face back to the bowls in front of her. "Hoping for more for breakfast, like the crème for my fruit?"

Mreow

"You might if I don't eat it all."

Hermione tucked into her bowls and ate mechanically. The berries weren't sweet, and the oats in her bowl were far from tasty. What she missed were the sounds and smells of Ron's cooking – fried eggs and rashers toast, beans and tomatoes. He wasn't as adept as his Mum – Hermione wasn't either, not by a long-shot – but it was edible, which was occasionally better than what Hermione could do for breakfast. She might not eat those things for breakfast, but the smells reminded her of Ron.

She looked down and saw that the bowl of porridge and fruit was empty. "Alright. You get the leftovers."

Hermione stood up and put the bowl on his placemat on the floor. Crookshanks dove in, lapping at the remaining crème in the bowl. She left him at the bowl on the floor while she walked back to the bathroom to take a shower after breakfast. She turned the handle for the shower so the hot water could billow out as steam in the small water closet.

Once that was going, she threw off her flannel housecoat. She slid her ice cold hands onto her hips and dropped the flannel sleep trousers, followed by the silk sleep trousers she got last year for Christmas. Hermione shivered despite the growing warmth of the small room. She quickly threw off Ron's old jumper and the long sleeved shirt underneath it. All that remained for her to criticize was the obscene yellow vest and muted lilac knickers.

Hermione stood before the mirror and gauged her appearance. The intervening years had helped fill out some of the curves on her body. Molly still quietly commented on her looking painfully thin, but her own Mum never said a word about her appearance. Ha! It's not like Mum and I actually talk more than pleasantries, still.

Hermione wiped the glass on the mirror to look more closely at her face. She lifted her hair and checked on the few strands of gray that were slowly coming into her dark tresses. She lowered her hair back down and sighed, knowing what was coming. Dark circles under her eyes marred her features. Then again she didn't sleep enough to actually look well rested. There were miniscule creases near her eyes and along her brow – but those were hidden most of the time under the barely vain glamour charms she used for the office. Fleur taught her that tidbit the first night they sat and talked when neither one of them could sleep after the war ended. Only Ron saw her without the concealing magic – and he didn't mind one bit.

Hermione shook her hair out and stripped out of the rest of remaining garments. She did a hasty once-over on her body and saw that the two remaining love bites, courtesy of Ron, were starting to fade. Has it been that long since we've been intimate? Have we gone so long that I've forgotten the feel of his lips on my skin, his teeth nipping at my tender spots? Have I been so busy that I've missed his talented fingers, teeth, and tongue?

Maybe he'll get home while I'm in the shower, and we can have a quick round of How's your father? this morning.

Hermione stepped into the scalding hot shower and relished the warmth of the spray on her chilled skin. It was the only other thing that could warm her up, at least temporarily. Rivulets trickled down her back and across the myriad of scars there. She dunked her head under the spray while running her nails across her scalp. It was a poor substitute for her husband's hands cradling her head while he snogged her senseless. She ran a hand down her belly and felt the water trickling through her fingers and along the barely there hairs on her abdomen. She ran her hand up to her scar on her chest, the one that was inflicted that terrible day so long ago. She felt the pressure from the water cascading across it but the warmth from the water wasn't there.

I guess he's running late once again.

Hermione set to washing her hair and scrubbing her body before preparing for work. As much as she wanted to get a leg over, duty called.

Too bad duty didn't slake the ache she had for her paramour.

She finished in the loo before picking out her attire for the office today. The manual clock on the wall said that she had fifteen minutes until she had to be at her desk.

She pulled on the jumper over her blouse when she heard swearing from the living room. About time!

Hermione pulled her hair from the collar and rushed into the living room. Sure enough, Ron was standing next to the fireplace complaining vociferously about his boots getting caught in the Floo.

"Ron," Hermione choked out.

He turned and the frown on his face melted away. "Blimey, you look stunning this morning." He pulled her close and claimed her lips for his own. "Fuckin' missed you last night," he moaned through their kiss.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "Wish we had more time this morning."

"Can't you be late?" He whispered into the hair above her ears. She pulled his face away from there and demurely stuck her tongue in his mouth to silence his protesting. Hands worked quickly along his trousers to open his pants to her waiting hands.

"No time otherwise," she said quietly while taking him in hand. She gently freed him from the confines of his trousers and pants.

"Ugh," he groaned, trying to grab the mantle to hold onto while she took matters into her own hands. "Fuck! Cold hands!"

"Keep complaining and I'll stop," Hermione said with a fleck of anger in her voice. "It's not like we have twenty minutes to shag against the wall."

Hermione dropped to her knees and continued to work efficiently. Moments later, Ron was cursing and panting from her attentive ministrations. She ran her tongue across the set of nerves under the head of his prick, hitting just the right spot.

"Fuck! Bloody Fuck!"

A quick incantation and Ron was tidied up. "Now I really have to go to work." She turned to collect her briefcase, her beaded bag, her lunch, and a winter cloak while he was still standing next to the fireplace trying to catch his breath. She gave him a quick kiss before grabbing a handful of Floo powder. "I've got class tonight, so don't wait for me."

She disappeared in a flash of green fire before Ron could open his eyes.

"FUCK!" He yelled in utter frustration.